


the moon (and her sun)

by remuspolaris (risolyandiwys)



Category: American Horror Story, American Horror Story: Apocalypse, American Horror Story: Coven
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-14
Updated: 2018-12-14
Packaged: 2019-09-18 04:00:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16987653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/risolyandiwys/pseuds/remuspolaris
Summary: “I understand that this has been the inevitable outcome for those that came before you, but not every supreme has had someone willing to travel to the ends of the earth to keep them alive. You do.”// in which misty comes home to cordelia. takes place some time post-apocalypse.





	the moon (and her sun)

**Author's Note:**

> i appreciate the overwhelming positive response to what i’ve already written and i hope you continue to enjoy what’s to come. i have so much more to say about these two.
> 
> follow me on tumblr @ remuspolaris

_i._

 

Misty Day scrapes the bottom of her boot against asphalt to dislodge the pebble stuck to the underside of it before she crosses the empty street. The moon illuminates the sidewalk before her as she steps onto it. She exhales slowly into the night, and it’s the only sound to reach her ears as she runs a tired hand over her face. It’s dirty, as is the rest of her—as are the clothes on her back and those tucked away in the bag she has slung over her shoulders.

Later, she’ll find somewhere to clean herself off and rest for a while—she has done so in every town she’s come across.

Even as she becomes reacquainted with the town she’d left behind so many months ago, she knows that she won’t be returning to the academy tonight. She _can’t_ return until she’s found what she’s been searching for.

After a while, all towns start to look the same. However, as she stares up at familiar signs hanging over the doors of shops, she thinks to herself that none of them will ever look quite like _home_. 

_ii._

As a teenager, she had done what she could to keep her head down and stay out of trouble, because attention was the last thing that needed to be on her as she was coming to terms with the fact that she wasn’t normal. She did what she could to nurture the abilities she was developing, because the way nature called to her—the way the very earth itself seemed to call out her name—could not be ignored.

That same mindset had followed her into adulthood, however, had taken over completely after she’d been left to burn, and when she had founds herself in a swamp far from the place she’d called home, she didn’t think she’d ever find herself in the company of others. She was perfectly content among the plants and god’s beautiful creatures, and she didn’t think she’d ever find her tribe or a place to call home. And she had been okay with that.

So the path she finds herself on now—it’s not one she ever imagined herself traveling. Although, a lot of things that have happened to her in the last few years are things she’d never have imagined experiencing—from being set on fire and left for dead to meeting her tribe, to dying (again) and being brought back to life by the voodoo demon himself. And once she had started to embrace her new chance at life, she hadn’t imagined she’d learn that the supreme—her best friend, her anchor, her light—was fading in the midst of a new one.

_Mallory_. She’s a sweet girl, Misty knows, and her abilities are incredible. The coven would benefit from a leader like her—but Misty isn’t willing to lose Cordelia, not yet.

How is it fair that a person like self-serving Fiona Goode can live a long life full of evil deeds, but her daughter (so compassionate and full of love) would not be given as many years?

When Misty had made the decision to leave the academy, she had been transparent in her reason for doing so. Cordelia hadn’t understood—or maybe she had, but she’d pleaded with her to stay and just be with her in the time she had left—but Misty had been resolute in her decision.

_There’s no way in hell I’m letting you leave—not again._

_I ain’t asking your permission, Delia. I’m leaving._

_You need to stay here and heal._

_What would you do if it was me? What if you knew you were going to lose me_ again _?_

_..._

_That’s what I thought. I’ll heal when I find a way to keep you alive._

With those words, she had pressed her lips to Cordelia’s and prayed to god that she would be successful and this whatever it is between them, this thing that they had not fully acknowledged or addressed, could have a fair chance to bloom and thrive.

And then she had walked out the door without a backward glance, knowing she wouldn’t have been able to leave if she’d taken one.

_iii._

The unfairness of it all was motivation to keep going at times. Mostly, however, it was the thought of Cordelia herself that made her constantly move forward and reinforced her decision to leave, and was a soothing balm on her aching heart when a spell she’d heard about was nothing more than a parlor trick or the person she’d been told would be able to help her was just a mortal wanting to cash in on another’s misery.

When there had been nothing more substantial for her to investigate, she’d eventually found her way back home. It was on a hunch—one that grows exponentially stronger the more she walks, and the driving force behind her actions has her passing a long row of shops to stand in front of one that looks more rundown than the others. 

A bell above the door chimes as she walks in. The door behind her closes and the noise of it all draws the attention of the man behind the counter. His skin is dark and his smile is nearly blinding and he is beautiful as he leans forward against the counter. He watches her closely as she approaches him.

“What can I do for you?”

“I... I don’t know why I came in here.”

The man nods once and his smile slips into a neutral expression, and he says nothing as his dark eyes hold hers for a long minute in which she finds she can’t look away.

“You were drawn here—guided here, to my shop. I think you’re here to trade,” he says finally.

“I’m not—I don’t have anything to trade.”

“You do. You see, I know what you need. The thing is, there’s something _I_ need. I think we’ll be able to help each other out.”

“And just what is it you think I need?” Misty asks. A spark of anger ran through her at his words.

“You need to keep the Supreme alive. You’ve been lookin’ in all the wrong places. Each town less promising than the last. It’s been right here all along. So,” he says, “Are you interested?”

“Exactly how do you know all of that? Are you a warlock?”

The tendril of magic suddenly prodding her is unsettling, unlike any magic she’s encountered before, but she doesn’t sense anything evil about the man. 

“Not quite. However, I am not an enemy,” he says. “I want to help you, if you’ll let me.”

“And just what do you need in return?”

At this, the man smiles and moves from behind the counter. He locks the door and flips the sign on the door to display CLOSEDto the outside world, and then flicks the lights off.

“Follow me,” he says and leads Misty to the back of the shop. “The name’s Roland, by the way.”

“Okay, Roland. So tell me what you need, and what you can do for me,” Misty says.

Roland leads her up a narrow staircase and through a doorway, and Misty looks around at what seems to be the main room of an apartment. At Roland’s insistence, she hangs her bag on a hook glued to the door and then sits at the table just to the side of a kitchenette. He sits across from her and waves a hand. She watches in fascination as a silver bowl appears.

“What is that?”

“Some collect souls, I collect memories. The blue liquid you see in here are memories,” Roland starts. “You see, I’ve been chosen by someone higher than myself to collect them. How I do it differs from person to person. Some people come to me for relief—I take their worst memory... and depending on certain factors, sometimes I take their best one as well. There are other times when I come across people such as yourself, and we do a trade of sorts.”

“So what kind of memory are you gonna need to help me?” Misty wonders.

“I need a counterpart to a memory collected recently,” Roland says. “I need the memory of the first time you made love.”

“You need what?”

“I need you to remember that you’re not doing this for yourself,” Roland says firmly. “You’re doing this to keep our Supreme from the inevitable. I’d like to think it’s a fair trade, but it’s entirely up to you.”

"…Okay. You can have it,” Misty says finally. “Just give me a way to save her.”

“Alright. Now, just sit back and try to relax. I’m going to walk you through this,” Roland says and walks around the table. ”First, I’m going to put my fingers on your temples...”

The rest of his words fade into white noise as Misty feels her eyes slide shut and—

_iv._

Soft. Cordelia is soft all over while her kisses are sharp, and Misty nearly purrs as teeth tug on her bottom lip. She has her hands on naked thighs as Cordelia straddles her, nails digging into the warm flesh beneath her fingertips.

_Touch me._

And she does. She slips her fingers inside of Cordelia, holds her steady with a hand on the small of her back. 

_Fuck, who knew you have such magic fingers?_

_Flirt._

Cordelia laughs softly and rests her forehead against her own as she kisses Misty, her wetness coating her fingers. And then—

_v._

“I have what I need,” Roland says.

Misty opens her eyes to watch as he holds something in cupped hands, gently pours it into the bowl—her memory—it’s gone—it’s—

“Would you like some water?” Roland asks as he turns back toward her. “I know that can sometimes leave people with a dry throat.”

“No, thank you,” Misty says.

“How do you feel?”

“Is that part of the job? Askin’ people how you feel when you take their most treasured memories?”

Roland exhales slowly and takes a seat in front of her, extends and upturned hand towards her. Misty stares at it sitting on the table and wants to shove it aside, but the feeling that lead her into the shop is now telling her to rest her hand in his—so she does.

“You’re a pure soul, Misty Day. I could tell that before you even thought about coming into my shop,” he tells her. “Everything you have learned in the last several months—about magic, about life, about yourself—every failure in another town has brought you here to me.”

She feels the thrum of magic in her bones as his fingers close around her hand—it’s unlike anything she’s ever felt before. She realizes he is allowing her to feel him without any barriers and he is—he is so—

_Good_ , she thinks as she meets his eyes. The man in front of her is completely good and there’s no way he can be of this world—not with the aura she now feels surrounding him. It wraps around her and in the space where there had been a memory, there is now ancient magic and knowledge that she's never known and it leaves her breathless.

“I wish I could tell you more about what I am and what I do, but that’s not a story you will be told. At least, not right now,” he says. “Go now. Your journey is done. And may we meet again, in the clearing, at the end of the path.”

_vi._

The moon hangs bright in the sky as Misty walks the streets beneath it to the only place that she had ever truly felt at home. It doesn’t appear to have changed that much in her absence—she only hopes that goes for more than the visual appearance, but she won’t know until she goes inside.

Mindful of the late hour, Misty unlocks the door with the key she’d been given ages ago and slips inside. She kicks her boots off by the door, which she shuts quietly behind her and then locks once more. She makes her way to the kitchen and goes immediately to the fridge, from which she takes a water bottle that she uncaps and brings to her mouth. 

As soon as the bottle is empty, she tosses it into the trash and turns to walk out of the kitchen. She sighs and then ascends the staircase, makes her way down the hall to a door she’d only walked through a few times. She lifts her hand and knocks lightly, and then drops her arms to her sides as she waits. It takes less than a minute for the door to open and Cordelia certainly looks like she’d been woken from a dead sleep, but god _damn_ —

“Hey, beautiful,” she says—and she can’t stop the words that leave her mouth, but the look of wonder reflected back at her as she speaks them leaves her feeling dizzy.

“M-Misty?” 

Cordelia is reaching out for her and Misty allows her to be pulled into the bedroom, makes her way further in as the door is closed behind her. And then Cordelia is standing in front of her, hands reaching out to take hold of her own.

“You might not want to touch me,” Misty says, feels her face flush. She takes the bag from her shoulders and sets it on the ground, careful to avoid letting it touch anything. “I’m really dirty and...”

“A little dirt will not keep me from touching you,” Cordelia says almost defiantly. Then, in a softer voice, “How about you go in to my bathroom and take a shower? While you do that, I’ll get you some clothes to wear. I can bring you something to eat too, if you’d like.”

“I’d appreciate that,” Misty says.

“All right, I’ll be back soon. Let me know if you need anything, okay?”

“Okay. Thank you, Delia.”

Cordelia touches her face almost reverently, and Misty reaches up to grab her hand and place a kiss to her palm. As she lets it go, Cordelia turns and leaves the room.

_vii._

Water sprays down on Misty as she stands beneath it, face titled upward. It’s funny, she thinks, how one could take for granted something like runnig water. Streams and other sources of water had kept her mostly clean the last few months and even before then, but it isn’t until now, as hot water rinses away soap and grim away from her that she feels truly clean.

Not only that, but she can feel that the water scalds her skin, and it’s like the weight of everything she’s been carrying around with her is being shed from her as well. Like the weight on her shoulders, in her very bones, is some tangible thing that can simply scrub off of herself. 

It isn’t, she knows. Misty knows that even with her finding her way back home, that she will still feel it. The relief washing over her now is only temporary and it—it makes her angry. Because none of what she’s done has been for herself—or maybe it’s _all_ been for her, because Cordelia Goode is everything light in her life she she doesn’t know what she will become if Cordelia is no longer with her.

Misty sinks to the floor of the tub and draws her knees to her chest, rests her forehead against them as she loops her arms around her legs. The first cry comes as she digs her fingers into the skin beneath her palms, the sound muffled by her knees and the water hitting the tub in front of her. The price for ensuring that she would be able to keep Cordelia from the inevitable was great, that much she knows, but so is the hole it left behind. The soul-shattering void it left in her mind and her heart.

“Misty?”

The shower curtain is pulled back slowly and then the water is turned off, and then Cordelia is kneeling next to the tub. She drapes a towel over Misty and then reaches out, gently rubs her back.

“I’m sorry for invading your privacy like this. I could... I could feel your distress from the kitchen, and I couldn’t ignore it,” Cordelia says.

“S’okay,” Misty says. She keeps her head on her knees, keeps her head bowed in shame of being seen in such a vulnerable state. “I don’t mind.”

“Do you want to stand up?”

At this, Misty nods and allows Cordelia to help her stand and get out of the tub. She follows the other woman from the bathroom to the bed where a worn Henley and pajama bottoms are nearly folded.

“You can use these,” Cordelia says. “Your clothes are in the other room, but Queenie took over that room when you left and I think it’s best that we not wake her up to get them.”

She doesn’t turn away as Misty drops the towel, merely sits on the bed and stares down at her feet as she dresses.

“Aren’t these _mine_?” Misty asks with a raised eyebrow. She’s somewhat amused at the red suddenly filling her friend’s cheeks, but it’s more endearing than anything.

“I may have... borrowed them while you were away,” Cordelia admits shyly. “I missed you.”

“They smell like you. I love that,” Misty says. “I’m... so sorry for being gone for so long.”

“It’s okay. you’re here now,” Cordelia says.

Misty hears the question in her words. In response to it, she reaches out and takes one of the hands fidgeting in Cordelia’s lap and tangles their fingers together.

“I’m here. I ain’t leavin’ again.”

_viii._

“You haven’t been eating, have you?”

 Misty looks up from the sandwich Cordelia had brought her, which she had been thoroughly enjoying—a fried egg and cheese on a bagel.

“I’ve been eating,” Misty assures her. “It’s just that food hasn’t been much of a priority for me lately, and with me walkin’ everywhere...” 

Cordelia manages a smell nod as Misty goes back to her sandwich. She doesn’t say anything else, merely watches as Misty finishes her food and sets the plate on the bedside table and then lays back on the bed, holds a pillow to her chest and inhales deeply.

“Everything smells like you. God, it’s really the little things you miss when you leave home,” Misty says. She pats the empty space on the bed in front of her. “C’mere, will you?”

Cordelia stands from the edge of the bed where she’d been sitting and crosses the room to turn out the light, and turns on the small lamp on the bedside table before she lays down beside Misty.

“Are we going to talk about it?”

“I don’t know where to start,” Misty admits as she closes the distance between herself and Cordelia, feels warmth spread out from her chest at the arms sliding around her.

“We can start with why you chose to leave.”

“I told you why. I left because I can’t let you go. I was in hell for eternity and then I wasn’t, I was home, and then you told me you were fading and I—“ At this Misty has to pause and swallow the lump in her throat. Fingers trail up and down her back, encouraging her to continue. So she does, “I felt like I was right there in hell again, but it was worse because hell? It’s predictable. It’s an endless loop of killin’ a frog and revivin’ it. Thinkin’ that I’d lose you feels a lot like that, but in a different way.”

“Oh, Misty...”

“I met a man tonight. He is different than anyone else I’ve ever encountered and I think... I think he might be an angel,” Misty says as she draws back, eyebrows furrowing in thought. “I went so many places, met so many people and learned so many new spells—but he was here the whole time. Something was guiding me back here, to him, because he was the only person who could give me what I’d been searching for. It just had to be the right time, and then, somehow, it was. So he gave me what I needed and I gave him something in return.”

“Misty...” Cordelia’s voice holds a warning. “What exactly did you give him?”

“I gave him a memory, one I’d carried around not only in my mind but in my heart.”

Silence falls over them and then—

“Which one?”

_ix._

Cordelia stands at the window, arms wrapped around herself as she stares out of it, and Misty can see from her position on the bed that she is trembling. 

She’d known that it would hurt—but she hadn’t considered the depth of that hurt, how she would feel it in her very bones—and she hadn’t considered that she would see it all reflected back at her. And, fuck, does it _hurt_. 

“It was the only way, Cordelia,” Misty says. She gets up and pads across the room to stand behind Cordelia, places her hands on her shoulders and slides them lightly down her arms to settle on her hips. “I know we haven’t really talked about that night, but you have no idea what it meant to me. The moment it was taken from me, I felt like I couldn’t breathe. I felt like I lost something essential to my very being, but I knew that it would nothing in comparison to losing you.”

“Every Supreme before me has gone down this same path. You know that won’t change.”

“Cordelia...” Misty sighs, shakes her head slightly at how stubborn the other woman is when she wants to be. “I understand that this has been the inevitable outcome for those that came before you, but not every supreme has had someone willing to travel to the ends of the earth to keep them alive. You do.”

”Why? Why did you do this for me?”

“Don’t you know already?” Misty wonders. She wraps her arms fully around Cordelia and holds her close, presses a kiss to the spot where neck meets shoulder. “I’m in love with you. And you’ve saved my life more than once... in more ways than you could ever know. I thought it was high time that I do the same for you.”

“That night meant—means so much to me, even now,” Cordelia whispers as she finally relaxes into the solid body against her own. “Jesus, I feel like a fucking idiot. Instead of telling you how grateful I am for what you’ve done for me, I’m hung up on what you sacrificed to do it.”

“I’m yours. Mind, body and soul, if you want me. Or even if you don’t, I suppose,” Misty says with a quiet chuckle. “We have the choice to make new memories together, if you want to.”

At those words, Cordelia turns in her arms and for Misty, she is being kissed for the very first time. Misty clings to her, the fabric of her shirt caught in her fingers. Cordelia walks her backwards and when Misty’s knees hit the bed, she falls onto it and Cordelia is following her down. She settles on her lap and loops her arms around her neck and then she is kissing Misty deeply.

“My dearest Misty,” Cordelia hums against her lips. “Of course I want that. I want _you_.”

“You have me, darlin’.”

_x._

Skin to skin. They are in the middle of the bed, Cordelia is straddling her as she touches her everywhere and misty—well, she’s wondering if she felt this dizzy the first time Cordelia touched her. Because Cordelia’s hands are all over her. They move up and down her sides, thumbs grazing her breasts. She is everywhere at once and she feels simultaneously like she will float away at the touch and the touch is the only thing tethering her to this world.

And, god, her hands are _everything_.

They’re an anchor as they cradle her face and Cordelia kisses her deeply—

They are completely unraveling her as Cordelia flicks her nipples with her thumbs, and the mouth that had been swallowing her sounds of pleasure move from her neck to her chest and—

They are on Misty’s back, fingernails making crescent moon shapes as Misty finds the space between them and suddenly she is inside Cordelia, and those fingers clinging to her shoulder blades are leaving scratches down, down, down—

They are tangled and tugging in wild curls as misty buries her face between Cordelia’s thighs, one arm pinning her hips down while her fingers become tangled with those searching for them and then Cordelia is completely unraveling at her touch, and Misty swears she’s never seen a sight so beautiful as that. She whispers the words into her thigh and then places her hands on Cordelia’s stomach, and the words that follow are ones she’d spoken to herself as she walked home in the night—Latin has never really been her thing, even as a witch, and there is no room for error—and she says each word with reverence.

She continues with her soft words and doesn’t break the physical contact she has with the other woman as she shifts to straddle her, her hands sliding up to settle just below Cordelia’s breasts. She leans forward and Cordelia meets her halfway to initiate a deep kiss, and when they draw back, her hands are glowing. They’re positively _radiant_ and, Misty notices as her words finally fade into silence, so is Cordelia.

Everything about her is light and god, she had actually been given something of worth by that man-angel.

“What did you do?” Cordelia wonders, eyes burning with curiosity.

“ _‘As I am, so you shall be_ ,’” Misty says, and she feels her words slurring together as she speaks. “It's some kind of ancient magic.”

“ _And?_ ”

“I gave you a part of me. As long as i’m alive and in good health, you will be too.”

And that’s all Misty can say as she feels exhaustion settle deep in her bones. She doesn’t tell Cordelia that she’s nearly drained her life-force to invoke the ancient magic she’d encountered or that it would take a while for her to recover, but Misty thinks that maybe she doesn’t have to, that maybe the things she leaves unsaid are as plain as day, as Cordelia slips her arms around her and pulls her down to rest her head on her chest.

With a slight adjustment, Misty has an arm draped over Cordelia’s midsection, their legs become tangled together under the sheet Cordelia retrieves from where it fell on the floor (a flick of the wrist and it’s covering them from the waist down), and Misty doesn’t know where she ends and Cordelia begins.

“You know… the first time we did this, I was so scared of you.”

“How come?”

“I know from the moment I met you that you’d be in my life forever. But I was so blind—literally, at times—to the depth of what our relationship would grow into. Our relationship started with words and touches, and without sight I could only feel who you were. It felt like you were made of sunshine at a time where I had let all the bad things that were suddenly happening to me turn me to ice. And when you touched me… god, I felt like you set every part of me on fire. And then I lost you.”

“I came back.”

”You did. You came back just as I started to understand that I was beginning to fade. But I—I wanted to touch the sun, y’know? I wanted to touch you, to show you the depth of my feelings for you, even if it meant getting burned. As much as it scared me, you set me on fire. You are the sun and I _burned_ for you. I knew that I was irrevocably in love with you and I wanted you to feel it, to _feel me_ , but I fucked up by keeping things to myself and I lost you again.”

“ _And I came back_ ,” Misty repeats, voice strong as she tilts her head to press her lips against the smooth column of Cordelia’s neck. “I will always come back to you. The way I did when Nan guided me back here to you, the way I did tonight.”

There’s silence and then, finally, “I’m really not fading anymore, am I?”

”You’re not fading,” Misty confirms gently, lips brushing against the underside of Cordelia’s jaw. And then, “I left because I refuse to lose you. I’d do it again in a heartbeat if I had to, and when my journey reached it’s end, I would always come home to you.”

“You didn’t just leave,” Cordelia whispers. 

“What you sacrificed...”

“What I sacrificed was a memory. A very important one, yes, but I’d give them all away if it means having you with me ‘til the end of our days,” Misty says firmly. “I love you.”

“You idiot,” Cordelia murmurs, and Misty can hear the affection in her words as she suddenly finds herself beneath the other woman.

Cordelia props herself up on an elbow and her hair falls like a curtain around them as she dips her head to kiss Misty, who reaches up to twirl a lock of it between her fingers in a way Cordelia has done to her so many times before.

“That love you wanted me to feel? I feel it. _Boy_ , do I feel it,” Misty rasps against her lips.

“You’re gonna feel something else in a minute here, and I’m going to make sure you don’t ever forget it,” Cordelia says seriously, although her eyes shine in amusement as Misty hums in delight. And her eyes sparkle even as she says in earnest, “Thank you.”

Misty knows what she means—wants to tell Cordelia that she never has to thank her for loving her—that you wouldn’t thank the moon for reflecting the sun. Although, as her hand settles on the other woman’s chest and she feels strong the _thumpthumpthump_ of Cordelia’s heart beneath her fingertips, she thinks that perhaps Cordelia is the sun. Because, yes, she shines bright but Cordelia is her tribe and Misty knows that you can’t be your best self until you’ve found yours. That’s what Cordelia has always done for her—she illuminates the parts of her that would otherwise remain hidden.

“What will happen when our time is up?” Cordelia asks suddenly, voice thoughtful as she looks down at Misty. “Did your angel tell you that?”

“When our time is up—whether we make that choice or we don’t—we’ll go together.”

“And what if I want to go alone? What if I think it’s my time to go but it’s not yours?”

“ _We’ll_ _go_ _together_ ,” Misty says and the eyes staring down at her are twinkling in delight, and Cordelia’s lips part in a smile that literally pulls the air from her lungs and then she is kissing her again and—fuck.

God, she was so fucking _right_ —Cordelia is the sun and she is her moon, and as long as there is one there will be the other, one shining and the other reflecting, until they make the choice to fall into the ocean together.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading!
> 
> p.s. i may have borrowed a line from one of my favorite book series (kudos to you if recognize it) but that 100% means you should be getting idris elba vibes from roland. just saying.


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